Greetings faithful readers, what’s new with Mitch? On the employment front we are pleased to announce that Mrs. Mitch got a promotion at her Home Depot gig to full time. Yes, the Mitch family is finally living the dual full time income dream. Besides the monetary upside, Mrs. Mitch and I will be able to see each other more often.
Before her promotion she would work five evenings a week. I would often be in bed when she got home. It’s no surprise that this took a heavy toll on our marriage. We essentially became roommates who never saw each other, mostly conversed by text and had sex on the weekends. Alas, this was not the best recipe for a happy marriage; which eventually reached its toxic apex with a vein bulging screaming match on a family road trip. Even Little Mitch got in on the verbal fisticuffs on that one; a definite low point for the Mitch dynasty.
I won’t bore you with the details of how we got our marriage on track. We hashed things out, got honest with one another and made arrangements to fulfill what was missing in our relationship, all the typical Dr. Phil relationship clichés. I will tell you though we did end up going to marriage counseling and it ended in archetypal Mitch fashion. Me storming out and yelling at the counselor loud enough so the entire office could hear, “you know what? You can go (expletive for sexual intercourse) yourself lady!!!” I stewed outside the office for 20 minutes while Mrs. Mitch finished the session. When they do a career retrospective of me after my untimely and ultimately suspicious demise, I want that scene at the top of the clip reel while the Scorpions’ hard rock classic “Rock you like a Hurricane” plays.
Now that Mrs. Mitch is working full time we had to enroll Little Mitch in that kid prison known as daycare. He seems to enjoy it. In fact he was already telling me that he likes it because of all the girls. “Daddy, there’s lots of pretty girls in daycare. The boys stay at the water centre but I go play Barbies with the girls, because that’s where the girls are.” At the age of four and half my spawn has figured out that to have any success with the birds a hip cat must separate oneself from the mini-sausage convention and go where the bird seed is. It took me until well after high school to figure that out.
A coworker asked me the other day how we decided on naming Little Mitch. I gave him the story of how we named him after a John Wayne character from a western I liked. Then it got me thinking. When Mrs., Mitch and I were debating possible names for the fruit of my loins I noticed that a great deal of boy names were derived from another language and meant “great warrior” or “strong warrior” or some variation thereof.
This got me thinking. Why are these names always meaning “strong” or “great” warrior? Why aren’t there names for “competent warrior,” “average warrior,” “mediocre warrior” or “adequate warrior?” At some point in ancient times when “warrior” was an actual viable profession, there had to have been some warriors who were decent enough to not get themselves killed but not exemplary enough with their fighting skills to gain any sort of professional recognition. Paycheque warriors, the nine to fivers of the warrior profession, the steady eddies of the armed combatant industry if you will.
I think if I was a warrior, I’d be a solid albeit not extraordinary warrior, the kind of soldier a superior officer can depend on.
General: “Maximus, come. Tell me what you think of Mitch. I’m thinking of promoting him to my main squadron.”
Maximus: “You know, he’s a solid warrior Sir. Good with a sword, decent aim with a spear, can hold his own in unarmed combat. A little slow footed but he compensates with a good rapport with the other men Sir. The guy shows up for work every day, he’s reliable. I can’t complain.”
General: “I have noticed that. His pillaging is one of his strengths in his skill set. His plundering is solid, not the best plundering I’ve seen but certainly not the worst.”
Maximus: “He’s a stand up guy, he helped me move last weekend. when I found out my girlfriend was cheating on me with a Spartan last summer, he took me to Rome got me drunk, and paid for the whores. I think some of them may have been dudes, I’m not sure, and I was really shit faced. But hey, a real stand up fella, a real stand up fella General.”
No need to thank me, I’m an idea man. It’s what I do.